


in which they are something greater than love

by eurydicees



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: (only in one), Angst, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Family, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Last Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, OT7, Ouran High School Host Club Shenanigans, Pining, Singing, Team as Family, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicees/pseuds/eurydicees
Summary: Completed one-shot collection for the Ouran High School Host Club Fest (hereon tumblr). Prompts, summaries, warnings, pairings, and word counts in the notes at each chapter.1. found family: a series of things they said to each other while they became something greater than friends.2. post-canon: after tamaki leaves éclair, kyoya sings.3. hurt/comfort: after the events at the ouran fair, tamaki finds kyoya alone.4. self-discovery: kyoya comes out.5. first/last kiss: unrequited love comes in many forms.6. free day: in which a playlist is a love confession.
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki, some gen fic
Comments: 39
Kudos: 74





	1. the things you say & the families you make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** “things you said” prompts. soft scenes in which the hosts become a family.  
>  **prompt:** day 1, found family/platonic dynamics  
>  **pairings:** none  
>  **words:** 2523  
>  **warnings:** none

###### under the stars and in the grass

There’s supposed to be a meteor shower, one night, and Tamaki drags the six other hosts out to the hill on the Ouran Academy grounds. It’s dark enough on the campus that the light pollution of the city won’t get in the way, and it’s high enough that none of the buildings will block their view.

They sit down in the grass, though the dirt is slightly damp from the afternoon’s rain and Haruhi is shivering. Tamaki looks up at the sky and the thousands upon thousands of stars above them, covering the sky in little heartbeats, pulsing out their rhythms somewhere in the universe. 

“Make a wish,” Honey says, looking upwards.

Hikaru, sitting next to Tamaki, hums in response, nodding. He’s quiet for once, lying down with his hands behind his head, red hair spilling over his wrists, looking up at the stars. They seem to be looking down at the seven of them specifically, and Hikaru can feel his heart reaching out to the Milky Way, like he longs to be part of that infinity. 

Here on Earth, though, he’s a part of his own little galaxy. Small, a little bit strange, but wonderful all the same. 

“It’s beautiful,” Haruhi says, half breathless and half dreaming. She lies next to Hikaru, one hand tangled with Honey’s hand, the other resting on Hikaru’s thigh. Connected to the others in all the ways that she can be. It’s strange, how the others make her want to be there. 

Tamaki smiles, but instead of looking at the stars, he’s looking at the group around him. “It is, isn’t it?”

###### with no space between us

They’re playing a game of sardines— another childhood game that Haruhi had brought to the hosts— and Kaoru finds Tamaki only minutes into the game. He’s hiding in an out-of-use janitorial closet, and it’s the first place that Kaoru looks for him. 

“Found you,” Kaoru says with an amused sort of smile. “Come on, move over.” 

Tamaki grins. “That didn’t take you very long.” 

“You didn’t hide very well,” Kaoru says. He pulls the door open wide and steps into the closet with him. “I’ll bet you a thousand yen that Kyoya finds us in the next five minutes.” 

“It _has_ to take longer than that,” Tamaki says, sighing. “Come on, have some faith in me.” 

“I do,” Kaoru says, pulling the door shut behind him. “I just have more faith in Kyoya. And I give Honey another ten after that.” 

Tamaki makes a face at him, somewhere between a sneer and a frown and a laugh. “I bet you two thousand yen that Hikaru is the last one to find us.” 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

Tamaki laughs, and the two of them don’t say anything after that, just settling in. Kaoru sits against one wall and Tamaki against the other; their folded up legs are slotted together, the closet not quite big enough for the both of them. Kaoru can hear every breath. 

In four minutes, Kyoya opens the closet door and slips inside with the two of them. One by one, the seven of them find each other. Somehow, they always find each other. It’s either something magnetic or something magical or something a little bit of both. Something that only the seven of them have.

###### when you were crying

Tamaki isn’t a quiet person, everyone who has ever met him knows this. So when he is quiet, that’s a sign, that’s a red flag that no one can miss. When Tamaki gets quiet, the world seems to lose just a little bit of its color. Sitting in Music Room 3 after the Host Club has shut down for the day, every inch of energy seems to drain out of Tamaki’s eyes, and Mori— the last one there— is left in a desaturated kind of shadow. 

It’s strange; the two of them. Of all of the hosts, they’re the least likely to get along. Mori is too quiet, too practical, while Tamaki is too bright, too easily tempted by magic. But that’s why they work, in some ways. Mori is happy to just sit and listen, and Tamaki is happy to just sit and talk, and the two of them find a balance within each other. 

But Tamaki is quiet, now, and Mori has to be the one to talk. There’s something terrifying about that— about talking— but it’s _Tamaki._ And Mori has never been afraid of Tamaki, could never be afraid of him. He loves him too much to be afraid. 

“Are you okay?” Mori asks. He stands behind the couch that Tamaki sits on, his shadow falling over Tamaki and wrapping around him like a shroud. 

Tamaki is silent for a moment, just staring straight ahead. Mori inhales deeply, and watches as Tamaki matches his breath. Then, in the smallest whisper, “No.” 

“What can I do?” Mori asks, quiet and straight to the point. He steps around the couch to sit next to Tamaki, keeping his eyes trained on Tamaki’s mouth, a trick that Honey had taught him for when he was too nervous to make full eye contact. 

Tamaki doesn’t look at him as Mori settles on the couch, just leans over and rests his head on Mori’s shoulder. Mori tenses up at the contact, then relaxes again. He rests his cheek against the top of Tamaki’s head, closing his eyes. Yes, this is okay. This is a language that he knows. He can do this— he might not be able to fix any of Tamaki’s problems, but he can be here for him with this much.

###### at 1am

The seven of them are lying on the floor of Hikaru and Kaoru’s bedroom, all of them tangled together until Hikaru isn’t quite sure which of them he’s touching and which of them he’s simply become. He has his head on someone’s stomach, and his feet on someone’s ankles, and he’s holding someone’s hand, and he can feel someone else’s hand resting on his chest. 

They’ve been together all day and all night; they run through periods of conversation and silence, no moment ever uncomfortable. They’ve only known each other for so long, but at this point, nothing feels wrong, when it really comes down to it. They’re a family, of some sort. They know each other’s voices and silences and ways of loving. 

“Hey guys?” Hikaru asks, eyes closed. The words drift out into the open air of the bedroom, finding their way into the ribbons of quiet. The others, half asleep, don’t answer. Hikaru just sighs. “I love you guys, you know.” 

It’s the first time that any of them have said it. They all hear it, and they all feel it, and in the morning, they forget that he had said anything at all. But it doesn’t matter. It’s there. They know.

###### when you were scared

A horror movie, Kyoya had said, was a terrible idea. 

Naturally, no one had listened to him. 

Now, halfway through the movie that the Hitachiin twins had chosen, Kyoya is glowing in the fact that everyone is regretting their decision. Kyoya might not like horror movies, but at least he’s not as miserable as Tamaki is in that moment. 

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch, sharing a knitted blanket that keeps getting caught on Kyoya’s toes, Tamaki squeezing his arm. Kyoya is about to tell him to shove off because he’s cutting off his circulation, then some monster jumps out at the camera and Tamaki screams. His hand drops from Kyoya’s arm to his hand and grips onto it tightly. 

Kyoya, who hasn’t quite been able to feel his arm since the movie began, now suddenly feels all too much. It’s a good kind of feeling, though, that of Tamaki’s palm against his, Haruhi’s arm pressed against his shoulder, Honey’s hand wrapped around his ankle from where he sits on the floor in front of the couch. This is his family, all holding onto him. 

“Don’t let go of me,” Tamaki says, voice an octave higher than normal. 

Kyoya bites down hard on his lip. He’s almost smiling. “I won’t.”

###### at the kitchen table

The seven of them are sitting at the table in Haruhi’s apartment, the smell of baking cookies filtering through the noise of the hosts all getting settled together. They’re pressed shoulder to shoulder in the kind of way that they all so quietly love, laughing over cups of tea and ignoring the way that Haruhi rolls her eyes at them. 

It’s a Saturday morning, and the hosts had invaded Haruhi’s apartment on the basis of not having anything better to do now that summer break has begun. They just want to be together, but none of them are going to say that out loud. For now, they’ll badger each other and spill tea on the table and help Kyoya with the crossword. 

“Böcklin painting,” Kyoya says, frowning at the newspaper he’s looking at. “Isle of the…” 

“Dead,” Kaoru says, and Kyoya fills in the answer. “It’s the one with the cliffs and then the tree, remember?” 

Kyoya nods. “Okay, 63 across. Poet who wrote ‘The Tyger.’” 

“Blake,” Haruhi answers, fiddling with a loose string at her shirt sleeve. She glances at Hikaru, across the table from her. “We read that last week, remember?” 

“Nope,” he says, grinning. She just rolls her eyes. 

Tamaki looks between the two of them, a fond smile on his face. Any and all jealousy subsides in moments like these, when they’re all laughing and together and nothing in the world seems to hurt. He leans closer to Kyoya to look at the paper, close enough that Kyoya can feel the shift of his shoulders as he breathes. 

The seven of them stay there, feet kicking at each other underneath the table. Later, they’ll watch bad movies, and Kaoru will try to coax as many laughs as he can out of Kyoya, and Kyoya will give in eventually. They’ll share instant popcorn, Hikaru gagging at the burnt pieces. They’ll hold onto each other at the funny parts, and the sad parts, and the happy parts, and they won’t let go.

###### with too many miles between us

The summer between their second and third years of high school, Tamaki goes to London. His father is going for a business trip, and he brings Tamaki with them— neither of them are quite sure why he does it, but Tamaki goes and doesn’t complain. He’s set to go for a full week, leaving the other hosts behind in Japan, and he’s _lonely._

He’s never done well when there’s no one with him to bounce thoughts off of, or to sit in silence with, or to distract him from some plummeting cycle of anxieties that he’s prone to falling into. But while his father has meetings, and after he’s tired of exploring the city, he sits in the hotel and lies in bed and just thinks of all the things that the others might be doing without him. 

If he’s being realistic, they’re probably just going about their daily lives and not thinking of him. They’re probably getting along fine, and not missing him in the way that he’s missing them. But still, he texts each of them in turn, hoping that he’lll get an answer. When he finally tries Haruhi, he can’t help but be surprised when she actually answers. 

“I miss you,” is the first thing that Tamaki says. 

“It’s been two days,” is the first thing that Haruhi says. Then she pauses. “You’ll be back soon.” 

That’s as close to an _I miss you_ as Tamaki is going to get, and the words make him glow. “How are things going back in Japan?” 

“Fine,” Haruhi says. Tamaki can imagine her sitting at the table, tapping the wood with her fingernails as she talks. He can imagine, so easily, that half smile she gets, the smile that assures him that she’s not just humoring him. “How’s London?” 

Tamaki shrugs, forgetting for a moment that Haruhi can’t see him. “I’m bored. My dad’s been at meetings all day, and I’m just kind of hanging out by myself.” 

“Sounds lonely,” Haruhi says. 

“That’s why I called you,” Tamaki says. 

Haruhi is quiet again, and Tamaki wonders what she’s thinking. Whether she’s happy that he wants to talk to her, or bored, or annoyed. So much of her still remains a mystery to him, however close they’ve gotten. 

“Well,” Haruhi finally says, “I’m here. Talk to me.” 

“I didn’t really have anything to say,” Tamaki admits. “But I can come up with something.” 

Haruhi actually laughs at that— a half-there, breathy kind of laugh, like she’s rolling her eyes as she does it, but it’s still there. “Alright. Come up with something.” 

“Well…”

###### when we were the happiest we ever were

They’re standing on the Ouran school grounds, the seven of them together and staring up at the fireworks. They have laughs and smiles still lingering on their lips; they have the sweet taste of friendship still— always and forever— hidden in their faces. They have the world at their fingertips, and Tamaki thinks he could live forever here, just watching the fireworks. 

He reaches over, finding Kyoya’s hand on one side and Haruhi’s hand on the other. They’re always there, always waiting for him. Their fingers intertwine on instinct, one hand after another after another. There’s something there that cannot be named— not because they’re afraid of it, but because it’s a feeling too grand for words. They— the seven of them— are something more, something greater, something beautiful. This might be the happiest that Tamaki has ever been, and when he glances back towards the others, he knows that he’s not alone in the feeling. 

“Hey, Tamaki,” Kyoya says quietly.

Tamaki turns to him, squeezing his hand. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“What is?” Kyoya asks. 

“The fireworks,” Tamaki says. Then he glances at the other five hosts, at their smiles and the softest blur of happiness at their eyes. “Us. All of us.” 

“Us?” 

Tamaki smiles, fully, entirely, irrevocably. The fireworks snap and boom, the colors bouncing off of Tamaki’s face, lights shadowing and brightening his eyes. “The seven of us. Being friends.” 

“Yeah,” Kyoya says softly. He glances around at the others, the laughing and the play fighting and the smiling, each of them looking around and finding the broken places to hold each other close. Finding the places they’re needed and the places they’re wanted. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. “Beautiful.” 

The seven of them exhale in unison; the year might be ending, but that doesn’t mean that the world is ending. They all exchange glances, trading a smile that says words meant just for their little group. Just for their little family. 

“Love you,” Tamaki says, smiling at Kyoya. Then he turns to the rest of them. “Love you all.” 

Haruhi squeezes his hand, smiling. “We love you, too.”


	2. i hope you don't mind if i give you this song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** kyoya accidentally reveals he can sing, and tamaki comes to a realization. the song mentioned is [“your song” by elton john.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwBEqupVOdc)  
>  **prompt:** day 2, post-canon  
>  **pairings:** tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori  
>  **words:** 2057  
>  **warnings:** none

It’s a Wednesday; there’s frost on the grass outside of the Ootori estate, there’s a gentle wind that brushes over the frozen dirt, there’s the soft shadow of music drifting over the yard. There’s Tamaki playing piano, his eyes cast downwards, focused on the keys; Kyoya, reading a book on the couch, a finger tugging at the corner of a page. His face is hard, the kind of frown that he gets when no one is watching. 

Tamaki is making his way through a book of sheet music that the cover advertises to be the best songs of all time. Fuyumi had gotten the book during a trip to England, and Tamaki has been steadily running through the list as the winter drags on. There’s a kind of summer in the piano, or at least there’s a kind of heat and light there when Tamaki hears it.

It’s only been a week since he left Éclair on that bridge, but it feels like everything has shifted back into place since then. They had fallen out of their rhythm, Tamaki and Kyoya, but here, playing piano, everything is right. Every note is on time, every press of the keys is smooth, every glance that Tamaki sends Kyoya is the same as he had always done, before any weight settled between them, a threat of marriage and the breaking up of the Host Club. 

Tamaki runs his hands over the keys, a cascade of notes, but he can’t quite focus on the sound. He can see the black and white under his fingers, slipping around in patterns that make up the bars of a song, but he’s not quite processing it. The only sounds he can focus on are Kyoya’s even breaths, the buzzing of the radiator, the shifting of the blankets when Kyoya turns a page, _Kyoya, Kyoya, Kyoya._

He doesn’t know what Kyoya is thinking about, while the two of them sit together without exchanging words. He doesn’t know a lot of what Kyoya is thinking, lately. He’s always been a hard person to read— Kyoya keeps himself closed off and silent, pieces of himself always hidden away in some sense or another. Tamaki can usually break through that, finding the flesh heart underneath the concrete exterior. Tamaki could watch and hold that heart for centuries without tiring. 

Kyoya sits on the couch now— warm under two blankets, knees pulled up, a book resting against his thighs— and though Tamaki doesn’t look over, he knows that Kyoya is watching him play. 

He watches him with an intensity unmatched, with a love that goes unnamed. There are things that Kyoya doesn’t say out loud and will never put a label to, but they’re also things that Tamaki knows to be there. He might not know what they are, those thoughts that wander through Kyoya’s head, but he knows that they’re there, and they’re about him. 

He knows that Kyoya watches him with a quiet yearning— Kyoya isn’t as subtle as he wants to be. He lets the world slip off of his shoulders, sometimes, letting himself look at Tamaki with an unfiltered kind of smile. There’s a vulnerability in this stare that Kyoya gives him while he plays piano, and Tamaki doesn’t really know what to make of it. 

So he doesn’t look away from the piano, just keeps his eyes on the keys, keeps his heart on the music. He thinks that if he were to let his heart flick over to Kyoya’s eyes, it would break. Kyoya doesn’t look away, despite everything. Tamaki can feel the soft graze of Kyoya’s eyes on his skin, he can feel the warmth of the look, he can feel the gentle, pulsing heat in the tilted smile. It’s not the kind of smile that rests on lips, but the kind of smile that only Tamaki knows can be made. It’s in his eyes, hidden behind the glasses; it’s in the slightest tilt of his chin; it’s in the tapping of his finger as Tamaki plays. 

He finishes the song with a flourish, his hands hovering above the keys for just a moment after the last note rings out. Finally, _finally,_ Tamaki looks over at Kyoya, dropping his hands to his lap. Kyoya looks away before Tamaki catches his eye, and Tamaki can’t help but wonder what he would have seen there, if they were to see each other without limiting themselves. 

“How did that sound?” Tamaki asks. He’s eager, earnest in the question, some part of him living for Kyoya’s approval. He rubs his palms against his legs, fingers cramped from playing, and doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so sweaty. “Did you like it?” 

“It was fine,” Kyoya says, staring at his book. He’s not reading, Tamaki can tell, but neither of them say anything about it. “Are you done?” 

“Do you want me to be done?” 

Kyoya is quiet at that, keeping his eyes on his book. Never meeting Tamaki’s gaze— there’s too much of a choice and an answer in the way that their eyes might meet. Tamaki thinks that maybe the world would burn if they were to stare for too long. He thinks that maybe he would never be able to look away, if Kyoya was to meet his eyes just once. 

There are things that Tamaki can’t say out loud because he doesn’t know how to put them into words. There are things that sit in the silence between them, festering there, growing, getting bolder, but Tamaki doesn’t know what they’re called. He doesn’t know what it is that makes him smile when Kyoya looks over. It’s a careful dance, he knows, because Kyoya can’t admit that he wants to look and Tamaki can’t admit to knowing that Kyoya is looking. 

“Whatever you want,” Kyoya says, “I don’t particularly care either way.” 

Tamaki looks at him for a long moment, studying him. Kyoya’s breath is uneven. “I’ll keep playing.” 

Kyoya just nods, and Tamaki turns away. He flips the page in the book of music, finding the next song. It’s an Elton John song, one of his favorites. He’s played it before, though not with Kyoya in the room. It’s a song that he’ll play when he’s alone in the Suoh mansion, when the house is feeling just that much more empty and the music echoes down the hall just that much more. 

It’s a slow song, one that Tamaki can sink into, letting himself fall into the world of the music. He knows it well, well enough for his eyes to flicker up from the keys and find Kyoya. Kyoya is watching him again, his eyes bright. There’s an intimacy in that sight that’s reserved only for lovers. 

Tamaki looks away. 

He keeps playing, never faltering. His cheeks have turned hot, even as Kyoya looks away, turning a page in his book, though they both know he hasn’t read any of it. Tamaki keeps his heart in the music, never wandering. 

Then— then Kyoya, eyes still on the page, starts singing, and Tamaki’s heart stops. 

_I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind—_

Tamaki looks up from the keys, eyes carefully trained on the sheet music. He can’t mess up now, because if he stops playing, then Kyoya will stop singing. Now that Tamaki has heard his voice, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to bear silence again. 

Kyoya sings quietly, the words just a breath with a melody. His voice is deeper than when he speaks, but soft, too, and Tamaki thinks his heart is bursting with it. Kyoya, singing “Your Song,” his eyes still on his book but singing while he reads. 

He knows the song well, apparently, well enough to sing without looking at the lyrics of the music. Tamaki desperately wants to know how often Kyoya sings, and who else gets to hear him. He hopes— selfishly, so selfishly— that he’s the first to hear his voice, as dark and smooth as it is. 

Kyoya is singing, and Tamaki can’t tear himself away from the sound. Kyoya still isn’t looking at him, and this feels like the inklings of a secret, the phantom of a question. This feels like a side of Kyoya that only Tamaki knows, that only Tamaki is allowed to see. This is something private, just for the two of them. Tamaki takes it, and hoards it for himself, keeping it safe from the rest of the world. 

Kyoya goes through the chorus, and he keeps going, his breath hitching at _how wonderful life is,_ his eyes flickering up to Tamaki, _when you’re in the world,_ and back down to his book. Tamaki doesn’t know what to do with that other than hope that he does it again. 

That flicker of a glance, barely a sight and even less of a second, is what finally makes Tamaki’s hands falter on the keys, switching too quickly between one note and the next, his heart suddenly dropping. He looks at Kyoya, and he can feel his own face turning red, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s made a mistake or because just the tiniest glance makes something hot flood through his stomach, makes him want to beg for Kyoya’s attention again. 

He wants Kyoya’s attention so badly, all of the time; he wants Kyoya’s eyes on him and he wants it to burn. He wants Kyoya’s smile, for him, with him, at him, just for the slightest presence of happiness. Just for the two of them, this room of song, this casual proximity to creation. He’s not sure what that means until he swallows down the next lines of the song and glances at Kyoya, eyes cast at the pages of his book, lips slightly parted, and— 

Oh. 

_Oh._

This is love, isn’t it? He’s in love. 

Kyoya doesn’t seem to notice this earth shattering realization, or maybe he does, and he’s very deliberately ignoring it. Either way, Tamaki swallows down anything he might have said, any questions, any answers, and he looks at the piano. Kyoya keeps singing. 

Tamaki can feel his heart pick up again, stuttering, coming to a stilted beat when Kyoya’s voice slips from a lower note to a higher one, following a kind of wave, a waterfall of piano and an ocean full of song. Kyoya’s singing voice reminds Tamaki of something endless, each word coming with a kind of depth to it that makes Tamaki want to dig his nails into Kyoya’s song and ask for more. He swallows each word as if he’s starving, as if Kyoya’s singing is the only kind of water he’ll ever need. 

He finishes the song, the finality of the moment hitting him with a kind of anxiety that he doesn’t know the name of. He wants to— he _needs_ to hear Kyoya sing again. Kyoya’s singing might let him enter some reverie only accessible when lying under the stars. 

Tamaki drops his hands to his lap, looking over at Kyoya, trying to hold back a blush. “You can sing.” 

“I guess,” Kyoya says, still staring at the book. He hasn’t turned the page since the song started. 

“You never said.” Tamaki smiles. “You should sing more. I—” 

“No,” Kyoya says dismissively. “I’d rather keep that to myself.” 

Tamaki watches him for a moment, frowning. “I—” 

“Why do you care?” Kyoya snaps. “It’s nothing.” 

Tamaki stops, eyes never leaving Kyoya’s face. He doesn’t know anything except this all-encompassing feeling; he doesn’t know anything except for the fact that Kyoya had been singing, and all things bright and strong in the world had burned. 

Tamaki swallows down everything he wants to say, settling for, “You have a beautiful voice, Kyoya.” 

“If you say so.” 

Tamaki just nods, and turns back to the piano. He doesn’t look at Kyoya, but he can feel his heart beating out of tune, running just a split second faster than its usual rhythm. He wants to play another song, something different, just to see if Kyoya knows it. He turns the page in the book, finding another love song. He starts to play— and Kyoya starts to sing. 

_One day,_ Tamaki thinks, _I’ll love him with more than song._


	3. a mitigation of all pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** after his father slaps him, kyoya disappears. tamaki, somehow, always, forever, finds him.  
>  **prompt:** day 3, hurt/comfort  
>  **pairings:** tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori (if you squint)  
>  **words:** 1752  
>  **warnings:** canon-typical abuse

Kyoya walks away. 

He leaves the rest of the hosts behind him, and he leaves the room. He doesn’t meet their eyes, doesn’t want them to see his shame. The comfort he might get from Tamaki’s hand on his shoulder or a kind word from Haruhi or a smile from Honey isn’t worth letting them see the shame on his face. It’s not worth letting them know that he’s about to cry, that he’s about to lose control in a way that he’s never done in front of anyone except for Tamaki. It’s not worth letting them know how hurt he actually is. 

He didn’t lie, when he said that he had been expecting his father to get angry at him for spending so much time with the host club. He had been approaching the Ouran fair with that in mind, knowing that his father would hate it. He had been waiting for this moment, for the other shoe to fall. Tamaki had given him a world of love, and Kyoya had been waiting for his father to take it away since Tamaki had taken hold. 

He just didn’t think that it would happen in front of other people. He didn’t think that his father would hurt him so publicly, in front of the hosts, in front of the rest of the school, in front of their parents. He didn’t think that his shame would be put on display like that. 

But, now that he thinks about it, sitting in the gardens outside, he should have expected that, too.

He’s been hit before— oh, nothing to make a _fuss_ about, just a hand and ring to cheek and glasses, or a fist and spit to chest and face, nothing to complain of, nothing to _speak_ of, stay _quiet,_ Kyoya— and this would be no different if Kyoya’s entire small, small world hadn’t seen it happen. 

The hosts— with the exception of Haruhi— all know he’s been hit before, Kyoya knows that they know. Not necessarily because he had ever said anything about it, but rumors travel quickly among aristocracy. The Ootori reputation consists of several important things: they are rich, they are powerful, they are prideful, and they are dangerous. They are cruel in the ways all parents must be, when so much is at risk. But they are also cruel in the ways that Kyoya cannot speak about. 

It doesn’t matter, now, though. They all saw it, they all heard it. The slap that rung ‘round the room, putting every other conversation to silence. Silence enough to send every pair of eyes to him when he kneeled onto the ground behind his father to pick up his glasses, trying not to feel too much like a beggar. A beggar or a worshipper. Kyoya isn’t sure what the difference is. 

He fails; he feels as small as anything, as small as the seven year old who was hit for the first time and cried at the feet of his father, whispering apologies and seeing only the stupid white of his slippers.

The wind in the gardens is cold, brushing against the fabric of his suit with a fury that Kyoya knows to be buried deep in his chest, never to be pried out and exposed. He sits in the garden and tries to calm his breath, tries to gather the courage to go back inside and pretend that it didn't happen at all. But he was never the brave one of his group of friends. 

Kyoya is an expert at repressing his emotions, at pushing down every feeling that might be vaguely painful to confront. If he could list “keeps his face still at even the worst heartbreaks” on a resumé, he would do it with full confidence. It’s a skill that he’s honed over the years, keeping the pain of his father’s hand against his face all bottled up neatly and quietly.

But sitting in the garden, leaning against an old oak tree, he can’t bring himself to bottle it up. Night has fallen, grabbing onto the hedges and the fields with dark fingers, grappling with the academy’s buildings, faltering only at the shining lights in the windows where the fair is still in full swing. 

Here, in the safety of the darkness, Kyoya forces himself not to cry. Even in private, he cannot let himself break. He can’t let his father get to him. If he were to admit how much it hurt, how humiliating it was, how broken he feels, he would have to admit how much he _cares._ And that’s the one thing that Kyoya can never let himself do. 

He leans against an old ginkgo tree, pressing his head against the bark. The rough wood dips into crevices and hills, biting into his skin and messing with his hair. He breathes in and out, inhaling cold sheets of air, exhaling warm heartbeats. Closing his eyes, all that Kyoya can see is his father’s anger when he brought his hand to Kyoya’s face. 

There are footsteps approaching, deliberately loud, as if whoever it is wants to give him a warning. It’s so easy to walk quietly against the grass, but this person has found every broken branch and crackling leaf to step on as they come closer. 

Kyoya opens his eyes, not surprised at all to find Tamaki coming towards him. Kyoya gives a half hearted wave, eyes dry and cheeks still stained red with a heat that he hates. 

“Hey,” Tamaki says, quiet, with all the gentleness of the nighttime which grips them both and squeezes honesty out. “Are you alright?” 

“Of course,” Kyoya lies. The lie comes so easily, until Tamaki sits down next to him, shoulder pressed against shoulder, and he breaks. “No. Not at all.” 

Tamaki inhales, and though Kyoya doesn’t look at him, it’s all too easy to imagine the worry etched into Tamaki’s face. He’s always cared so much about other people— not what they think of him, like Kyoya does, but how they’re feeling. 

“I’m here,” Tamaki murmurs. “You’re not alone.” 

He doesn’t look at Kyoya either, but Kyoya feels more seen than he ever has before. Tamaki doesn’t say that he’s sorry and he doesn’t try to give any kind of pity, and Kyoya is grateful for that. Tamaki knows what he needs, has always known. 

“The others are worried about you,” Tamaki says, “I told them you would be okay.” 

“I’ll go back inside in a bit,” Kyoya tells him. Another lie that comes easily to his tongue that Tamaki— even more easily— sees straight through. “I just needed to… get out of there. For a minute.” 

Tamaki nods. He pulls his knees up to his chest, arms circling around his legs. “We care about you, you know. If you wanted to quit the club, we would understand.” 

He says it like it means nothing, but Kyoya, as fluent in _Tamaki Suoh_ as he is, can hear the shake of his voice, the uncertainty. He says he would understand— and he would, Kyoya knows that— but it doesn’t take away from genuine fear that Kyoya would leave him. 

“I’m not quitting,” Kyoya says, and he thinks maybe that he can be brave, in his own way. It’s easier when Tamaki is sitting next to him. “Like I said, I expected this outcome.” 

Tamaki shrugs. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” He turns, looking at Kyoya for the first time, his eyes open and honest. “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to hurt, Kyoya. You’re allowed to feel things, you know.” 

Kyoya is silent, then. He doesn’t know what to say, how to tell Tamaki that he’s not, he can’t feel things, because feeling things means being human, and being human means being vulnerable. Kyoya can’t be vulnerable, not when the world is so sharp and all of his defenses are down as nighttime comes and Tamaki finds him. 

He thinks back to all of the moments they’ve shared— the two of them in the cafeteria of their middle school, laughing about their teachers; the two of them sitting at the kotatsu, Kyoya pushing at him fondly and Tamaki laughing carelessly; the two of them travelling around Japan, taking pictures as if they’ll forget the rest of the world exists if they aren’t there in that moment, together; the two of them sitting in Music Room 3, wondering if anyone was ever going to show up. 

Then there’s the more secretive moments— the two of them sharing Tamaki’s bed, whispering their secrets; Kyoya pushing him over and demanding to understand the inner workings of his mind; holding each other when Tamaki cries on his mother’s birthday; calling each other every night when one of them is traveling, talking about their days as if it hadn’t been only twelve hours since they last spoke; running through the rain and laughing, though they were soaking wet, banging on the front door of Tamaki’s house and giggling as they stepped out of wet and muddy shoes and into slippers. 

“I know,” Kyoya says quietly. “When I’m with you, I know.” 

Tamaki jolts up at that, as if he hadn’t been expecting it. Kyoya realizes, then, that he’s never said it out loud before. How much he trusts Tamaki— how much he believes that, at the end of the world, Tamaki will find him. He’s never said out loud how much he loves Tamaki, in every possible form. 

It’s all true, but he also knows that— as long as his father wears rings and has strength in his arm, and as long as Kyoya is sitting at his feet and begging in front of his peers and their parents— he’ll never say it out loud, not in as many words. This is as close as he’s ever going to get. 

Tamaki, though, smiles. It’s a gentle, non judgemental smile. Like he understands what Kyoya is trying to tell him without ever saying it. Like he knows what Kyoya means as he says, _when I’m with you._ Like he sees straight through Kyoya’s words and into his heart. Kyoya can barely feel his father anymore; all that he knows is that Tamaki is with him. 

“Good,” is all that Tamaki says. “Love you, Kyoya.” 

Kyoya swallows. He can’t say it back. But Tamaki bumps his shoulder, and Kyoya leans his head down to rest against Tamaki, eyes closed, and those are words enough.


	4. tell me when you’re ready to be brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** With Ranka’s support, a party, and a cake, Kyoya brings himself to come out.   
> **prompt:** day 4, self-discovery   
> **pairings:** none  
>  **words:** 1734  
>  **warnings:** some swearing, allusions to homophobia

They’ve closed down the host club for the moment, taking Music Room 3 for themselves in order to celebrate. Kaoru came out and Haruhi is going to get top surgery, and while neither wanted to make a big deal of it, Tamaki had insisted. Ranka had joined in on the insisting, and Haruhi eventually decided that it was easier to give in and have a party than to argue. 

Their conditions had been simple, and, surprisingly, Tamaki had complied. Maybe he understood how important it is to keep Haruhi comfortable, or maybe he’s just not quite sure how to plan a party to celebrate transitioning— Kyoya doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t want to be here. 

He’s happy for Haruhi, he is, but there’s an aching in his heart that he can’t explain. It’s like there’s a hand on his lungs, squeezing harder and harder, and soon enough, he’s going to burst. Soon enough, he’s going to choke on his own silence. It’s jealousy, maybe, or fear. 

Haruhi has always been so open with them, and Ranka even more so, but Kyoya doesn’t know how to do that. How to be honest. In theory, his friends won’t care if he’s gay. In theory, his friends wouldn’t look at him any differently. 

But that doesn’t stop the fear. Real life, he knows, is different from theory. He knows that— with all the love he has for Tamaki and the others— they would make a big deal of it. They’d have a fucking party, and Kyoya can’t handle that. He can’t. He’s barely able to admit it to his shadow, or to the mirror. He can’t advertise it. 

Haruhi, somehow, is being a good sport about the party in a way that Kyoya knows he couldn’t be. They’ve begrudgingly accepted a piece of cake from Honey, and Tamaki has an arm thrown over their shoulders. He’s leaning on them with a bright smile on his face, and though Haruhi is rolling their eyes, they have yet to shove him off. 

Kyoya watches the rest of them from one of the lounge chairs, sipping on a cup of tea and keeping an eye on his notebook. He’s gotten to doodling in the margins of the paper; on this particular page, he’s copied down the costs of the party, all of which are being covered by Tamaki, with a little gender symbol at the top. He stares at the numbers, but they blur as he glares at them. 

“You’re distracted,” someone says, flopping down onto the couch next to him. 

Kyoya looks over, finding Ranka looking at him with a smile. She’s wearing one of her favorite dresses— something Kyoya only knows because of the long tangents she’ll go on during their weekly calls— and she’s made up as brightly as possible. Celebration is in her nature, just as dramatics are in Tamaki’s nature, and quiet is in Kyoya’s. 

“Talk to me,” Ranka suggests, voice light, encouraging. 

“I’m fine,” Kyoya tells her. His voice is sharp. “Don’t concern yourself over me. Go enjoy the party.” 

Ranka smiles. There’s a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. “This is me enjoying the party. So. Talk to me.” 

Kyoya sighs, snapping the cover of his notebook closed. “There’s nothing to say.” 

“I bet Tamaki would be happy with another reason to celebrate,” Ranka says. It’s casual, but she looks at him carefully as she says it, analyzing his flinch. 

Everything about this conversation is careful, and Kyoya wonders how long she’s been planning this out. If not for this party, would she have brought it up during their next phone call? Or the one after that? How long, Kyoya can’t help but wonder, has she known? If she knows, who else does? 

Ranka has always been unnervingly observant, and however hard Kyoya has tried to hide it, it’s clear that Ranka is well aware that he’s gay. She’s well aware, and trying to make him say it. 

“There’s no other reason.” Kyoya puts his tea cup on the table in front of him and dares a look at Ranka. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Part of life is being honest with yourself,” Ranka says. She leans back against the couch, closing her eyes. “That’s not something you need to learn the hard way. You can just listen to me.” 

Kyoya looks away. His eyes unwittingly fall on Tamaki, as they so often do, finding him talking animatedly with Hikaru, his hands flying. He _would_ like another reason to celebrate. Ranka, somehow, of course, always, follows his gaze and can tell exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Tell him,” Ranka says. She practically sings it, and it’s all that Kyoya can do not to roll his eyes. “Tell him!” 

Kyoya bites his lip, hesitating. He almost wants to, he almost wants to say it. He could just walk over to Tamaki, and say it. I’m gay. I like boys. I think maybe I’m not a boy, not fully, but I’m also not ready to deal with that, just like I’m not ready to say this out loud. Just like I’m not ready to have a goddamn party. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyoya says again. It’s the worst lie he’s ever told. 

Ranka just sighs. She can see right through him, and they both know that she’s not going to let this go. It’s not out of any kind of malice, and Kyoya knows that she’s not going to push him to do anything he isn’t ready for, but he also knows that she's not giving up. If he won’t tell Tamaki, she’ll at least make him admit it to himself. 

He’s tired of hiding it, in some ways. He is ready to come out, in most ways. He’s scared, in all ways. 

There’s no reason to be. Kaoru came out two weeks ago— though Hikaru is still having trouble with that— and Haruhi is getting top surgery, and Ranka is out and proud, and everyone is fine with it. More than fine, Kyoya guesses, because he’s at a fucking party. 

Kyoya takes a deep breath. He looks over at Ranka, who smiles at him. Ranka, damn her, is pushing Kyoya in all of the right ways, in all of the ways he knows he needs, and it might kill him. 

“Tomorrow,” Kyoya says. 

Ranka shakes her head. “Tomorrow never comes. Oh look, Haruhi is— Haruhi!” 

Kyoya glances past Ranka, where Haruhi is coming over to them. They look happy, despite the festivities that they didn’t ask for. They walk slowly, waving a hand at Ranka. 

“How are you enjoying the party? Kyoya asks as Haruhi reaches them. He tugs at the ribbon in his notebook, not quite meeting their eyes. They’re the most reasonable person to come out to, and both Kyoya and Ranka know it.

Haruhi smiles, sitting down on the couch. “It’s nice. I didn’t expect it to be.” 

“Tamaki wanted to go all out,” Kyoya says, “but we talked him down a bit. I’m glad it’s nice.” 

Ranka is staring at him pointedly. “Tell them,” she mouths. 

Kyoya swallows. It would be so easy to just blurt it out. It would be so hard to have to face the idea of someone knowing him like this. To be honest is to be real, and Kyoya is terrified of that. 

“Haruhi,” Kyoya says. Haruhi— clearly cut from the same cloth as Ranka— immediately sobers, the small smile dropping as they realize that this is something that matters. Which is the exact opposite reaction that Kyoya wants. “Never mind.” 

Ranka touches his knee, featherlight, the comforting touch of a parent that Kyoya has never had. He’s never wanted it either, but the way that Ranka is looking at him is the kind of encouragement only a parent can give. It’s a new feeling. 

“I’m gay,” Kyoya says. It’s clinical, calculated; he says it with as little emotion as possible. It’s just a fact of life, a fact about him, and it’s not supposed to be anything more than that. This isn’t a confession. It’s just a new entry in a dictionary. 

Haruhi smiles at him, a quiet, honest smile. “Thank you for telling me, Kyoya. You know I support you.” 

“I know,” Kyoya says, swallowing. It’s painful. “Go enjoy the party. Both of you. Tamaki looks lonely.” 

He doesn’t— he’s talking to Honey and More, bright-eyed and laughing— but Ranka and Haruhi seem to get the message. They both stand up, Ranka squeezing his shoulder tightly. Kyoya doesn’t look at either of them, just stares at the tea cup on the table. 

He doesn’t know what he expected, by coming out. He doesn’t know what he thought would change, or what it would feel like to say the words out loud. He thought maybe it would be a heavier weight, to have people know. He thought maybe it would lessen the weight on his shoulders, to not have to keep it a secret. 

Instead of that, he just feels… normal. It feels like any other moment. He can breathe. His heart is still beating. Behind him, a little ways farther into the room, Haruhi is berating Tamaki for some nonsensical thing he’s done in the past five minutes. Nothing has changed. 

He doesn’t know why it hurts so much. And he doesn’t know why it feels so good. There’s a tightness in his throat and a lightness in his chest, and there’s no fixing either of them. He wonders if it’s going to feel like this every time he says it, or if it will ever feel easier. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe he’ll do it anyways, despite everything. He glances backwards, where the others are breaking into a small cake. It has a rainbow flag on it— Tamaki had ordered it custom made for this party. Kyoya had gone with him, and the baker had given them a strange, uncomfortable look, but Tamaki had been unfazed. He had just bought the cake, and the group was going to eat it, and there would be no fuss. 

Taking a deep breath, Kyoya stands up, walking over to the group. He wants a slice. Maybe after that, or before that, or during that, he’ll come out to the rest of them. They’ve already got a cake prepared, so he might as well join in.


	5. on the same page of different books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** kyoya is in love. tamaki is not. they kiss anyway.  
>  **prompt:** day 6, first/last kiss  
>  **pairings:** tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori (fully unrequited)  
>  **words:** 3350  
>  **warnings:** internalized homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't finish day 5 in time, rip me, sorry about that. hope you enjoy day 6! note on the internalized homophobia: it's nothing intense, but it _is_ there.

It’s midnight, just past the deep drum of the grandfather clock downstairs in Kyoya’s living room. He only knows the time because he’s been waiting for it, waiting for midnight to pass. 

“It’s tomorrow,” Tamaki whispers, in that hoarse, almost-asleep voice he gets when the sun goes down and late at night turns into early in the morning. 

They’ve had sleepovers before, and they’ve made it a tradition to stay awake until midnight. That’s what kids are supposed to do at sleepovers, right? Stay up until midnight giggling over nothing, talking about girls, ranting about teachers, raiding the kitchen for the unhealthy snacks. Tamaki and Kyoya are no different from any other kid in their school; they’re not above this midnight whispering. 

Kyoya smiles wryly. “It’s tomorrow.” 

“Are you tired?” Tamaki asks, voice still low. He’s not at risk of waking anyone up— Kyoya’s room is far enough from the rest of the house that no one can hear them, and his siblings aren’t here anyways— but he keeps his voice quiet, because that’s what’s meant to happen at sleepovers. “I’m not tired yet.” 

“We can stay up,” Kyoya whispers back, his voice only marginally quieter. 

Tamaki has always been worse at being quiet, being still, being tired. They’re twelve years old, and while Kyoya seems to have grown up years too soon, Tamaki has an endless reservoir of energy that Kyoya can barely keep up with. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. That doesn’t stop him from taking from that reservoir of energy, just those smiles that spill over the edges and bleed into Kyoya’s own smile. It feels, sometimes, like Kyoya can only smile when he’s around Tamaki. 

Tamaki nods. They’re sharing Kyoya’s bed, and the covers are pulled up to his chin, his head resting in the crook of his elbow. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” Kyoya murmurs. He shifts, pulling the blankets farther up his own shoulders. It makes the blankets ripple over Tamaki, and Tamaki smiles. They’re connected, when they lay like this. They’re not touching, but there’s so little fabric between them, and the air is fragile. 

“Have you ever kissed someone?” 

Kyoya swallows. This is the kind of thing you can only ask in the dark, and leave it to Tamaki to do so. “You know the answer to that question.” 

“You haven’t,” Tamaki confirms. “I was just checking.” 

There’s a moment of silence, where Kyoya keeps his eyes closed, unsleeping; and Tamaki watches him, the soft rise and fall of his breath, and the dreams running behind his ears. 

“I haven’t either,” Tamaki says. It’s gentle, though Kyoya doesn’t really know why he’s bothering to say it— this is a fact that Kyoya already knows. If he had kissed someone, Kyoya would have been the first person Tamaki would tell. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

And that air between them, that fragile air— it _breaks._

“What?” 

Kyoya’s throat has closed up, and his eyes fly open, only to find Tamaki looking intently at him. It’s not a thought that’s ever crossed his mind before, kissing Tamaki. It’s not a thought that needs to be had; it’s not like they would ever do it. Except, apparently, Tamaki has thought about it, has been thinking about it. 

“Just for practice,” Tamaki clarifies. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything. Just to try.”

Kyoya swallows down that lump in his throat, the one that wonders if Tamaki is gay— if he himself is. If this is something he wants. Just for practice, or maybe more than just for practice. 

He knows, somewhere deep inside of him, what the answer is. But it’s not something he’ll ever say out loud. Not even in the dark. 

“Why?” Kyoya asks. His voice shakes, though he knows it shouldn’t. 

Tamaki shrugs, the blankets moving with his shoulders. His eyes are wide, earnest, open to anything. Whatever Kyoya could say here in this moment, Tamaki would accept it. He wouldn’t even question him, if Kyoya were to say yes, or if he were to say no. It wouldn’t matter to Tamaki. This, Kyoya thinks, is what innocence looks like. 

“Just to see what all the fuss is about.” Tamaki smiles at him, a half-smile, the kind he gets when he’s nervous. “It feels like everyone is doing it.” 

“Those are just rumors,” Kyoya says automatically. “They’re not true. Almost no one has. At least, not yet.” 

Tamaki bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Kyoya unwillingly follows the line of his teeth against his lip, and wonders what it would feel like if Kyoya was the one to do that. “But when it does start happening— when everyone starts with the whole kissing thing— don’t you want to be prepared?” 

Kyoya hesitates at that. He simultaneously wants to and doesn’t want to. He wants to be prepared, but he also knows that it might never happen. He also knows that he isn’t really looking forward to it. The idea of kissing a girl, of being that close to someone, it scares him. It scares him in a way that he can’t handle, in a way that made him decide a long time ago to never fall in love with anyone. 

That, he quietly and hopelessly knows, only applies to girls. But again, that’s not something he’s going to say, not in the light and not in the dark and certainly not to Tamaki. 

“I guess,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“So,” Tamaki says, “do you want to kiss me?” 

Kyoya, again, hesitates. He knows the answer. But he doesn’t know what answer Tamaki wants to hear. Then again, why would he ask if he didn’t want Kyoya to say yes? 

“If you want to,” Kyoya says, voice taking on that hoarse lowness of Tamaki’s own whispers. “Only if you want to.” 

“I do,” Tamaki tells him. “Just for practice, you know?” 

Kyoya nods. “Just for practice.” 

“Right.” 

“Right.” 

There’s a silence. 

Then, “How— how do we do this?” Tamaki asks. 

Now he’s the one who looks nervous; it’s not the kind of nervousness that makes him want to take back his agreement, but the kind of nervousness that makes him want this more. 

“I don’t know,” Kyoya confesses. “Just… try.” 

Tamaki runs his tongue over his lips, and Kyoya tries not to stare. He fails. Tamaki seems to see right through him, seems to see exactly how much Kyoya wants this. “Sit up.” 

Kyoya sits up. He’s always been good at following instructions, especially when it’s Tamaki. This, at least, is familiar. Letting Tamaki take the reins, following his motions as if he were a ghost, wanting only to make Tamaki smile. That’s another secret he’ll never say. He has so many of them. 

They’re both sitting up, the blankets falling to their waists. Kyoya is tense, waiting, unsure where to put his hands, what places to breathe, whether his breath still smells like mint toothpaste or will now taste like sleep. 

Tamaki is just as tense, but he’s always been better at unravelling tension and turning it into anticipation. He puts his hand on the back of Kyoya’s neck, pulling him in gently. It’s a light touch— Kyoya could pull away without any protest at all, but he doesn’t. 

“One,” Tamaki whispers, “two… three.” 

They both lean in, and they meet somewhere in the middle. They miss each other’s lips, at first, and their noses hit each other, and Kyoya nearly falls over, but they kiss, in the end. They find each other, they find their rhythm, the right place to fit their lips and breath. Kyoya closes his eyes and relaxes into it. 

Then it ends. Then it’s over, and they decide to sleep without talking about it.

— 

The next time that they kiss, they’re fifteen and they’re at a party, and it’s to prove a point. It’s a birthday party for a classmate that neither Tamaki nor Kyoya knows well enough to want to be there. But they received invitations anyways, and a weekend at a vacation home near the mountains sounded nice in the unusually hot summer.

Tamaki is the only one that Kyoya even just vaguely likes at this party, so they find themselves sitting on a couch somewhere to the side, ignoring the rest of the party. It’s not a particularly fun one, just a bunch of the kids in their grade hanging out in a house lacking any adults, but the two of them manage to find things to talk about. 

It’s not until a group begins to form around them that Kyoya begins to get a weird feeling. He’s never been uncomfortable in a group, he’s never felt weird about being with other people, but that doesn’t mean he actually enjoys it. That doesn’t mean he wants to be there— and that feeling is only accentuated when one of the girls gives him a strange look. 

He’s used to strange looks, he doesn’t mind them. But there’s something intense in this girl’s stare, something that makes him feel as if she’s staring right through him. As if she’s looking between him and Tamaki and seeing something more, something that Kyoya has so fiercely tried to hide. For someone to know— to truly know— what he feels for Tamaki is for someone to expose all flesh and bone to a judgement he’s not ready for. That he’ll never be ready for. 

But this girl— and he doesn’t even know her name— is staring at him as if she knows, and it makes his lungs flush. 

“Are you two…” she doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. 

There’s something gross about the way that she says it; not with a kind of hate, but with a fascination. With a festishistic desire that Kyoya doesn’t know what to do with. Of all of the reactions Kyoya might have expected, this isn’t one of them. Even more unexpected is the shocked look that Tamaki gives her. It’s the kind of shocked look that sends sparks down Kyoya's stomach and sets his organs on fire. 

“What?” Tamaki asks. “Of course not. Why would you think that?” 

The girl frowns. “I don’t know. You just seem so close.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tamaki says, smiling— bitterly, with a kind of charged offense that Kyoya hates. “Kyoya’s my friend. But I’m not like that. Neither of us are.” 

Kyoya swallows, and all words have somehow disappeared. All words have been caught in his throat, building up a dam between breath and protest. He refuses to think too hard about this, he refuses to, but— the certainty with which Tamaki defended him against being… gay; the certainty with which the girl had thought he was; the feeling of being both seen and beaten down is killing him. He’s been both too successful and not nearly successful enough to hide it— this girl sees right through him, and Tamaki sees nothing at all. It’s a strange reversal of how things usually are. 

“We’re just friends,” Kyoya says, barely managing to keep his voice even. 

The girl frowns. “So you’re not… in love with each other?” 

“No,” Tamaki says firmly. “And we can prove it.” 

Kyoya blinks. No, they can’t prove it. They can’t prove it, because Kyoya is in love with Tamaki, even if Tamaki doesn’t feel the same way. They can’t prove anything, because Kyoya’s hands are shaking and Tamaki isn’t looking at him. 

“How?” the girl asks. The group of girls around him are now looking at the both of them with an intensity that makes Kyoya’s hands tremble hard enough to hurt. There are blushes on their faces, both embarrassed and curious. 

Tamaki smiles at her. “We’ll kiss, and no sparks will fly. Then I’ll kiss you, and sparks _will_ fly.” 

The girl doesn’t hesitate. Her face is burning, but she’s excited, Kyoya can tell. This is a game to her. It’s terrible, horrible, impossible logic, but the chased high of a game like this has never cared for logic. 

“Do it,” she says. 

“Okay,” Tamaki says, his smile still hard. He turns to Kyoya, a secret question in his eyes: Are you? 

Kyoya shakes his head, imperceptible to anyone except for Tamaki. Plain as day to Tamaki, as plain as a lie can get. He’s okay with this, with proving this point, and Tamaki knows that, but that doesn’t change the fact that the point cannot be proved. It’s just that Tamaki can’t ever know this piece of the puzzle that is Kyoya Ootori. 

“Ready?” Tamaki asks.

Kyoya bites the inside of his cheek and tries for a smile. He’s reminded, painfully, of being twelve years old and sharing a bed, and realizing, for the first time, that he’s probably in love with his best friend, and he can never speak of it. “Yes.” 

They kiss, and it means nothing. The only sparks that fly are the ones that scar Kyoya’s lungs when he watches Tamaki kiss the girl, one hand gently pressed to her cheek, the other at her waist. The only sparks that fly are the ones that burn shadows into his heart when he watches Tamaki kiss someone else.

—

There are some things, Kyoya thinks, that don’t need to be said out loud. That don’t need to be said at all. This, this thing he feels for Tamaki, is one of those things. He’s never been one for words, never been one to say things that don’t need to be said; Kyoya is one for the shadows, one for staying in the background, making the world spin round without any credit.

He’s happy to let Tamaki take the words and grand speeches from him, he’s happy to let Tamaki take all of the breaths from his lips. He’d give anything to Tamaki, if he were to ask. He never does, but the feeling still stands. 

But Tamaki likes words, likes talking, like working through things verbally. This, this thing Kyoya feels for Tamaki, is something that needs to be said out loud. Something to be confronted. 

“I know, you know,” Tamaki says quietly one day. 

They’re sitting on Tamaki’s bed, this time, though they’re seventeen and much too old and too tall to be sharing the bed like this. They’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the headboard and staring out at the rest of the room. Kyoya has a book in his hands, one that he’s only half paying attention to, and Tamaki has been playing video games for the past hour. They hadn’t felt the need to talk before this— they’ve always been comfortable in silence, when it’s each other. 

But maybe that wasn’t it, Kyoya thinks, now. Maybe Tamaki had just spent this silence trying to come up with a way to talk about this. About the unsaid things, about the things Kyoya had begged whatever cosmic force is watching over them that Tamaki would never guess. 

“Know what?” Kyoya asks carefully, not taking his eyes off of his book. It’s not a good one, he’s only reading it for school, but he wishes more than anything that it was engaging enough to actually be able to ignore Tamaki. 

“That you like me,” Tamaki says, even more careful. They don’t look at each other. “I’m not completely oblivious.” 

Kyoya swallows, trying to push down that fire in his stomach, trying to keep old wounds from opening again. But as Tamaki says it out loud, this thing that he’s been hiding for so long, this thing that he’s hated about himself, about the world— there’s suddenly no denying it. It’s welling up within him spilling out in an uneven heartbeat and a panicked breath. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyoya says, the words barely phantoms in the air between them. Nothing more than sounds. He turns a page in his book. “We’re friends. Of course I like you.” 

Tamaki hums an answer, not an agreement nor a protest. Just an acknowledgement. It makes Kyoya sick. 

“You like me as more than that,” Tamaki says. He pauses his video game, saying, “I know, Kyoya.” 

Kyoya’s mouth has gone dry, and all of his thoughts have been lost to his mantra, his heartbreak, _he knows, he knows, he knows—_

“It doesn’t matter to me that you’re gay,” Tamaki continues. Kyoya doesn’t breathe. “I just thought I should tell you that I know.” 

“Why?” is all that Kyoya can ask. 

It’s not a helpful question, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade Tamaki from this idea, it doesn’t do anything to stop this awful conversation. In all of his dreams and nightmares and worries, it had never gone like this. In his head, when he came out, Tamaki had always either kissed him or punched him. It had never gone like this. Somehow, this hurts more than either of those options. 

Tamaki shrugs. Neither of them look at each other— Kyoya doesn’t want to expose his broken heart, and Tamaki doesn’t want to see it. “I just thought we should be on the same page.” 

“Great,” Kyoya says hoarsely. “Now we are. Congratulations.” 

“Yeah,” Tamaki says. His voice is soft. Another ghost in the cracks between them. “I don’t like you back.” 

The words in his book are blurring, and Kyoya doesn’t cry, he hates crying, he refuses to do it. But his eyes are tearing up anyways. His heart is sinking into a well of salt and water and other broken things. 

“I know,” Kyoya says. “I don’t care.” 

“Maybe I could,” Tamaki says slowly. “Maybe.” 

Kyoya goes still, his breath frozen. His only movement is a tear that spills over to his cheek, dripping to his chin and slipping on to the pages of his book. “Oh.” 

“Maybe if we kiss,” Tamaki suggests, “I could figure it out.” 

It’s a bad idea, it’s a terrible idea, it’s a horrible idea, it makes Kyoya want to throw up. 

He agrees anyways. 

“Come here,” Tamaki says softly. He puts his hand on Kyoya’s, slowly closing his book. He loses Kyoya’s page, but neither of them care. They can confront the world later— maybe together, maybe alone, maybe broken, maybe whole. “Kyoya…” 

Kyoya goes, lets Tamaki put his hand against Kyoya’s cheek, and oh, this feels so right, as if there has never been any hate or fear in the world at all. This, Kyoya thinks, is why people like kissing. When it’s with someone you love and your heart is broken, it feels like healing. 

Tamaki leans in, and they meet in the middle. Kyoya doesn’t have much experience— and neither does Tamaki— but this, he thinks anyways, is the crux of love. Everything is heightened; the way that Tamaki pressed his hand against Kyoya’s cheek, guiding him; the strawberries that they had eaten earlier on his lips; Kyoya’s hand against Tamaki’s back, his fist gripping the loose fabric of Tamaki’s shirt. 

When they pull apart, they’re both breathless. 

“So?” Kyoya asks quietly. He cannot forget the risk. 

Tamaki hesitates, searching Kyoya’s eyes for something. Something that Kyoya has found so often and so easily when he looks at Tamaki’s smile. 

He doesn’t find it. 

“I’m sorry,” Tamaki murmurs. 

Kyoya just nods. “I should go.” 

Tamaki doesn't say anything to that, but he’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and the guilt that rests on his face is sending fire through Kyoya’s chest. He’s heartbroken, but in a completely different way that Kyoya is. This isn’t rejection, not entirely— this is pity. 

Kyoya gathers his things, sliding off of the bed and heading for the door. Just before he can leave, Tamaki gets up too, grabbing his shoulder. Kyoya doesn’t turn, just stiffens at the touch. 

“You’ll always be my best friend,” Tamaki promises. It’s not a lie, but it is another heartbreak. 

“I know,” Kyoya says. He doesn’t turn to look at Tamaki. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” 

Tamaki, unseen as Kyoya walks away, just nods.

The next day, they meet Haruhi.


	6. listen to this if you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **summary:** in which kyoya makes a playlist for tamaki, which is kind of a love letter, and kind of not. a story in several years and several songs.  
>  **prompt:** day 5, gift giving / day 7, free day  
>  **pairings:** tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori  
>  **words:** 2467  
>  **warnings:** none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> using my unposted day 5 fic for day 7, enjoy! thank you all so much for your support throughout this week, i've had so much fun, and i'm so grateful for all of these comments and kudos. make sure to check out the other ohshc week posts at [ohshc-week.tumblr.com](https://ohshc-week.tumblr.com/)!

###### violet hill (coldplay): if you love me, won’t you let me know?

“You wrote me a love letter,” Tamaki says, staring at Kyoya. 

Kyoya stares back, swallowing hard. He’s eighteen years old, and he’s terrified. “What do you mean?” 

He knows exactly when Tamaki means, he knows exactly what Tamaki is talking about. He knows that music, for Tamaki, is a kind of promise. He knows that music, for Tamaki, is its own kind of love. Tamaki knows that he knows that, they both know that music is its own confession. In making him a playlist, Kyoya is confessing a kind of love that he can’t say in words. 

“You made me a playlist,” Tamaki clarifies, holding the CD in both hands. He grips it as if he’s afraid that it’s going to disappear if he lets go now. Kyoya has half a mind to take it back, but he’s come this far, he’s not going to give into fear now. “Same thing.” 

“Sure,” Kyoya says, trying to be dismissive. Instead, though, it comes out as all too earnest. “If you say so.” 

Tamaki nods. There’s half a smile on his face, but it’s hesitant, like he’s not sure that this is real. Like he’s not sure if Kyoya is really giving him this. This is more than a gift, more than a birthday present. It’s an honesty that Kyoya has never given anyone else. 

“Will you listen to it with me?” Tamaki asks. He’s bouncing on his toes, all of his constant excess energy coming out in a nervous tic that makes Kyoya want to reach his hands out to Tamaki’s shoulders to make him still. “We can go back to my place.” 

Kyoya shakes his head. He can give this piece of his soul, but to know what Tamaki would say when he saw it might kill him. To see Tamaki’s face, if he were to listen too closely to the lyrics and understand everything, would be the end of him. Should Tamaki see him, understand him, know him, and then reject him, Kyoya would have nothing left of the world. 

“I have to go,” Kyoya says, quiet. “I have some work to do.” 

Tamaki shrugs, still gripping the CD tightly. “I’ll let you know when I finish it.” 

“Please,” Kyoya says, and there’s a kind of shakiness to his voice that Tamaki is too kind to point out. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

###### heirloom (sleeping at last): you are so much more than your father’s son

They’re fourteen years old, and Kyoya thinks that he’s going to fall apart. He can’t put his finger on it, can’t quite place what it is that’s wrong with him, with the world. He can’t quite put it into words what it is that’s wrong, or what it is that’s killing him so secretly. He doesn’t know. 

There’s a kind of pressure that’s building up inside of his chest, a kind of reservoir of stress threatening to spill over into a scream. He doesn’t know how to get rid of it, and he doesn’t know how to confront it, all he knows is that it’s there, and it's growing through his lungs like a mold ready to consume him. 

He doesn’t tell anyone. There’s nothing to tell, not really. There’s just him and the world and this impossible feeling of failure. There’s just the end of everything, coming ever closer. 

But then, somehow, impossible, entirely, always— there’s Tamaki. There’s Tamaki, who knows him better than Kyoya knows himself, who knows all of the things about him that Kyoya can’t accept out loud, who knows all of the things that matter and all of the ones that don’t. 

There’s Tamaki, who can put a name to these things. He’s always been so good with words.

“You’re stressed,” Tamaki finally says, when it feels like everything is about to boil over and burn. They’re sitting in Music Room 3, Kyoya at one of the tables and Tamaki sitting across from him. He peers over the top of Kyoya’s computer, eyes narrowed. “Talk to me.” 

“There’s nothing to say,” Kyoya tells him, frowning. “I’m not…” 

It’s a lie. They both know that it’s a lie; Kyoya is stressed beyond stressed, but he doesn’t know how to admit that. He’s never known how to admit things like that— things like _feelings_ or _failures._

“You are,” Tamaki insists. He reaches over, pushing at the computer and pushing it closed. “What about?” 

Kyoya sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. His vision is blurry, and it’s not just from being without his glasses. He’s so tired. “My dad has been talking about giving me more work recently. Actual work.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Yeah,” Kyoya says, but he sighs while he does it. “It is. I’m just…” 

He trails off, shoving his glasses back over his eyes and leaning back in his chair to look away from Tamaki. 

“Just what?” Tamaki asks. 

“Not sure if I can handle it,” Kyoya says quietly. “Not sure if I’m doing good enough. If I’ll ever be good enough.” 

Tamaki frowns at him, sitting in silence for a moment, letting Kyoya’s words hang in the air between them. They stay there, lingering, like little rainclouds of an insecurity that Kyoya has never been able to admit before. 

“Of course you’re good enough,” Tamaki says, voice soft. He’s always been so soft, and Kyoya has never been more grateful for it. “You’ve always been good enough.” 

“Not if I fail.” Kyoya swallows, leaning forward, voice going quiet, like everything he says is a secret. “If I fail at this, I’ll never…” 

Tamaki reaches a hand across the table, letting it rest on top of Kyoya’s tightened fist. A gentle touch, comforting and easy and just the slightest bit terrifying. “If you fail, and your father is disappointed, and everything falls apart— you’ll still be good enough. You’re going to try your hardest— I know you will— and so you’re going to be more than enough. If your dad can’t understand that, that’s his problem.” 

Kyoya smiles wryly, and they both know that Tamaki’s words are ringing doubtfully in Kyoya’s ears. They both know that Kyoya doesn’t believe him, and it will take years before he will even begin to try. But they also know that this still means something. It means that Tamaki believes he’s enough. There’s someone beyond his father, who will catch him if he falls. 

“Thank you,” is all that Kyoya can say.

###### heavy (oh wonder): i could be the only, i could be the only one

They’re sixteen years old, and much too old for sleepovers, or for sharing the bed like they are. But it’s barely midnight, and Tamaki and Kyoya are curled up under the covers of Tamaki’s bed. They’re facing each other, though their eyes are closed. 

They’re close enough to be touching, but far enough that they can pass it off as nothing. Tamaki’s bed is just too small to fit the both of them; that was why their legs were tangled together in the way that they were. Though they have their chests pulled away from each other, leaving enough room between them to ignore the closeness they’re both rapidly falling into. 

“Do you ever think about love?” Tamaki asks. It’s in a whisper, like all things are at this time of night. It’s a secret, like all of these conversations are. 

“Not really,” Kyoya says. It’s a lie, and they both know it. Kyoya may be a good liar, but Tamaki knows every tremble and whisper and growl of his voice, and he knows all of Kyoya’s tells. They’ve only known each other for a year or so at this point, but they’ve already grown close enough for it to begin to hurt. 

Tamaki sighs, his breath tickling Kyoya’s nose. “I do.”

“What do you think about? About love?” Kyoya asks, not quite sure if that’s the right question. 

Tamaki is quiet for a long moment. “I think about what it is. What it means to have it. If I have it.” 

Kyoya doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he opens his eyes to study the boy lying next to him, his closest friend, the kind of person who loves and loves and loves, all without any kind of obligation. It’s strange to think that he— this creature who seems to be made up of love— might doubt it. 

“Do you… think that you don’t have it?” Kyoya asks hesitantly. 

Tamaki rolls over, looking up at the ceiling now, pulled away from Kyoya so that their legs are no longer touching. “Sometimes, I feel like that. Like there’s no one else out there.” 

They’re both quiet, quiet enough that their heartbeats seem to be trying to speak to each other, since their lips cannot move, cannot say the words that they mean. _Do you love me? Do_ I _love you? Am I the only one?_

“I’m here,” Kyoya whispers. 

Tamaki smiles wryly. He doesn’t turn to look at Kyoya, but he shifts his leg under the covers and slots his foot between Kyoya’s ankles again. Connected, in the smallest and most innocent of ways. “Me too.”

###### tell me you love me (sufjan stevens): my love, i’ve lost my faith in everything, tell me you love me anyway

“I’m a little tipsy,” Tamaki says, voice slurred and broken up over the phone speaker. “I’m a ‘lil— lil— you know.” 

“Tipsy?” 

They’re seventeen years old, and Tamaki is drunk, and Kyoya is tired, and the world keeps spinning around. The world keeps turning, despite all of the problems in the world. Despite all of the issues that Kyoya is facing, despite the crises that keep coming, the world keeps turning. 

“Tipsy,” Tamaki says, “that’s the word, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” Kyoya says. 

Tamaki laughs. The sound is just as beautiful over the phone as it is when they’re in person. It’s just as tender, just as electric when Kyoya shivers. “You should come over.” 

“Come over?” Kyoya asks. He’s not sure what Tamaki is asking, and he’s not sure how he wants to answer. “To your house?” 

“Where else?” Tamaki asks. Kyoya can hear his smile over the phone, can hear the gentle happiness bleeding over the wire. “You should come to me.” 

Kyoya smiles to himself; he’s alone in his room, and there’s no one to hide from. There’s no one to pretend against, no one to act in front of. He can love Tamaki without consequences, when he’s alone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” Tamaki asks. There’s a sad tint to his voice, and Kyoya doesn’t know how to feel about that— doesn’t know how to believe that Tamaki is sad in his absence. When he’s alone, is Tamaki thinking about him?

“Because you’re tipsy,” Kyoya says. He licks his lips, wondering what Tamaki is like when he’s drunk. If he’s the kind of person who would hug him and hold him close, or if he’s the kind of drunk who would cry when Kyoya glares at him. “It’s not a good idea.” 

Tamaki sighs, audible even over the phone. “I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

“Yeah,” Tamaki says. “You know, I miss you. When I’m alone.” 

“Ah.” 

Tamaki sighs again. It’s the kind of noise that makes Kyoya’s heart reach out to him, makes him want to find him, to go to him. Makes his world spin, as if he’s the one who is drunk, rather than Tamaki. “Sometimes I think that the world is just… terrible.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Just… everything.” Tamaki coughs into the speaker, and Kyoya winces at the sudden loud noise. “I sometimes lose my faith in people.” 

Kyoya blinks. He’s not quite sure what that means. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know,” Tamaki tells him. “But then again, you know, there’s you.” 

“Me?” Kyoya can feel the blush working up over his cheeks, can feel a kind of high building up over his lips. “Why me?” 

There's silence for a moment. Then Tamaki exhales— not a sigh, but a release. “You’re just… you. It makes me believe in life again.” 

“Oh,” Kyoya whispers. That’s all there is to say.

###### sight of the sun (fun.): you are the best thing that this life has yet to lose

“I listened to it,” Tamaki says, breathless.

“To the CD?” Kyoya asks. He stares at his math homework in front of him, but he can’t bring himself to focus on the numbers. His hands are shaking, making Tamaki’s voice seem to tremble through the phone. “What did you think?” 

Tamaki is silent for a moment— an eager, quick moment, but it’s long enough that Kyoya feels himself drop through the second floor, the world snapping around him as he hits the floor. He feels his heart stop, feels it break, feels it die. He crumples up his lungs like a piece of scrap paper, and he chokes out an, “It doesn’t mean anything, Tamaki— it’s just songs—” 

“No,” Tamaki cuts in. “It’s not just songs, and you know that.” 

Kyoya is quiet. There’s no arguing with Tamaki— arguing this means lying, and Tamaki is the only person that Kyoya could never lie to. 

“You love me,” Tamaki says, his voice turning soft. “That’s what this means, right?” 

Kyoya nods, harsh, stiff, forgetting that Tamaki can’t see him. If anything, that just makes his confessions easier. If he can’t see Tamaki, he doesn’t have to face the consequences of his love. 

Tamaki clears his throat, the sound grainy over the phone’s speaker. “Kyoya. Please tell me if I’m interpreting this wrong, because I— Kyoya, these are love songs. And I— just, tell me if it’s not true.” 

“It’s true,” Kyoya murmurs. “I do. Love you.” 

Tamaki doesn’t waste a second. “I love you, too.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I love you,” Tamaki repeats. There’s no trace of hesitation or fear or worry or a lie in his words. There’s only music. “Kyoya, you wrote me a love letter and expected me not to say it back?” 

“I wasn’t sure,” Kyoya says, voice still shaky. “You really…?” 

Tamaki laughs, but it’s not cruel. It’s just Tamaki, and Kyoya, and it’s beautiful. Kyoya has never been more in love than in this moment. “Of course, I really. Since we were fifteen.” 

“Fifteen,” Kyoya echoes. He still thinks he might be dreaming. “Oh.” 

“Is that okay?” 

“More than okay,” Tamaki tells him. “Will you come to my house now? I want to— I want to see you.” 

It’s Kyoya, this time, who doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in a minute.”


End file.
